


"He's gone"

by Sociophobia452



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Napoleon Whump, Protective Gaby, Protective Illya, Torture, Violence, im not good with tagging
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:20:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25366003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sociophobia452/pseuds/Sociophobia452
Summary: "The night that Napoleon went missing, Illya couldn’t help but panic."Napoleon is abducted and it's Illya and Gaby's job to help find him, whether Waverly allows them or not.
Relationships: Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo
Comments: 17
Kudos: 73





	1. The Night Of

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you like it! It's my first piece of writing, so sorry if it's kind of bad :/

The night that Napoleon went missing, Illya couldn’t help but panic, taking the entire room with him. Gaby had entered the now-disorderly room, eyeing Illya as he so desperately looked through the room to find any sign of Napoleon. "Of course," Gaby thought, sarcasm filling her thoughts, "it had to be this day, Solo. You absolute fool." 

Today had been the day they were out on yet another mission, one that was supposed to be an easy stake-out for information, however, they had gotten careless. She figured something like this was likely to happen, what with Napoleon’s generally easygoing and self-absorbed demeanor, Illya’s inability to not take Solo’s frequent and annoying teasing without some kind of response, combined with Gaby’s inexperience in the field. 

Once out of her small trance, Gaby tried to get her and Illya properly focused again: “Illya, darling?” Her voice hitched slightly at the end, making it seem almost like a question, but she was, in all honesty, slightly scared of Illya in this state. She has seen him during his episodes due to his Volatile Personality Disorder that she had seen in his file when Solo had stolen it to have a look. 

She remembered walking in on him, Illya’s file in hand, and she distinctly remembered lecturing him about his obvious invasion of Illya’s privacy. Napoleon had claimed at the time that he was, in his own words, “just making sure that our new Russian friend wasn’t going to kill him in his sleep,” but Gaby figured it might have been something else because not too long after, on Illya’s birthday (which was listed in the file), there was a cake on the counter when they had woken up and they saw Napoleon with his apron on and covered in flour. 

The memory had brought a slight smile to Gaby’s lips, but she quickly put it away when she noticed that Illya had completely ignored her before. “Illya,” she called in a sharper tone, “I need you to take a few breaths, this is not going to help get him back any sooner. We- no, you need to call Waverly, I’ll take a look around for anything.” 

Illya seemed so lost in Cowboy’s room but managed to hear the last part of Gaby’s quick speech and reluctantly gave a small nod, without even looking her in the eye, and turned towards the phone on the other side of the hotel. 

It felt like forever until he finally reached the phone. He thinks that his hand hovered over the phone longer than it should have, just shaking, but he’s not sure. All he can see is red, anger over a large layer of grief. He tries to take some deep breaths and digs his fingernails into his palm, releasing them after some time. He repeats this again for a couple minutes until he is finally able to pick up the phone and dial Waverly’s number. 

After some time, Waverly finally picked up with a “hello?” 

“It’s me,” Illya let out, his voice smaller than either he or Waverly had ever heard.

“Ah yes, Kuryakin. A bit late to be calling in a report, yes?” Illya has said nothing to this, too stunned that even Waverly hadn’t even known of Napoleon’s disappearance. Illya must have stayed quiet for too long because Waverly filled in the void, “Is everything alright, Kuryakin?” 

Illya winced and his mouth started moving before he could even stop himself. “He’s gone,” he sighed, his voice somehow quieter than it was before, making it harder for Waverly to understand. 

“Excuse me?” 

“He’s gone!” Illya couldn’t help but shout in frustration and grief, but Waverly seemed to have understood his outburst. 

“Oh my…” Waverly responded, then his voice disappeared from the phone. Illya could vaguely make out a “get a team on standby” and “Solo is MIA.”

When his voice seems to turn his attention back to Illya, it’s laced with concern. “Kuryakin, are you still there?”

“Yes sir.”

“In your room or Solo’s?”

“In Solo’s room, sir.”

“I need you to step out of there. I assume Teller is with you as well?”

“Yes.”

“Leave the room untouched, I don’t need you two making it harder for the investigation team by making a mess of the evidence. I also can not have you two on the case.”

This elicited a small pause from Illya before his volume picked up as it had before, “what?!”

“Kuryakin, you and miss Teller are compromised when it comes to Agent Solo and each other in general. You lot are the best agents in U.N.C.L.E., I can not lose you as well in an attempt to find Mr. Solo when we have a perfectly capable team ready to find him. I’m sure you understand my concern.”

Illya took a moment to fully grasp what Waverly had just said, but eventually let out a “yes sir,” that has been conditioned into him since his years in the KGB.

Waverly continued, “you and Miss Teller will report back to HQ where you will be questioned and examined while our other team will investigate.”

“We will meet at extraction point at 21:30.”

“Understood, Kuryakin, we will have a helicopter there soon.” With that, the line went dead and Illya was left with the dial tone, in shock and anger quickly starting to mask over that. He decided to walk over to Gaby with the new set of orders. Gaby turned, noticing Illya looming behind her as she saw the mess of sheets on Napoleon’s bed, with signs of struggle and the small pool of blood didn’t help calm either of them. 

“What did Waverly tell you?”

“Extraction point is ready. Told us to leave him,” Illya responded, his accent more heavy and present than ever, he almost thought he said it in Russian, but his theory was shut down when Gaby had responded back to him.

“Excuse me? He can’t expect us not to get involved in this!” Gaby’s voice raised to fill the anger that was resting in the both of them. 

“We are compromised, can’t work on case effectively. He said new team would take care of it.”

“And you said nothing about it?”

“I could not.”

“What do you mean you ‘could not?’”

“Chop shop girl,” Illya began with a warning but was cut off.

“What happened to you being angry earlier?” Gaby’s voice was a steady crescendo, rising in anger with every passing moment.

“Gaby,” his voice starting to match hers, it was just as sharp with more warning in it.

“You can not expect us to not get involved! This is Napoleon we are talking about! We can’t leave him! We can’t just-”

“We can not go against orders either!” Illya shouted, louder than she ever could reach, “Waverly gave us order, we follow them!”

Gaby paused, not surprised by his sudden rage as it was typical of him, but she made an attempt to understand what he had said. She failed miserably.  
“I will be going to the extraction point, when I get back, I am going to help. Screw Waverly, screw his orders, this is Napoleon and we can’t just leave him here,” Gaby said flatly. Illya wavered at her voice, his rage disappeared and changed to determination. 

“I will help as well.”

“Good, let’s go.”


	2. A Long Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Napoleon's POV

When Napoleon finally had woken up, he felt like he had been hit by a train. He woke up in a dark room with nothing but a dim light bulb that made a small circle of light around him. 

He luckily still had his clothes on from the night he and the rest of his team were present on the stakeout, but clearly, he was missing something else: the rest of his partners. There was a brief moment of panic in his chest with the thought of Illya and Gaby being in another room, separate to his own, but he calmed down after he remembered the message he had received, indicating that his partners were at the safe-house already waiting for him.

He was relieved to know that they were out of trouble, but he couldn’t say the same for himself. He was somewhat glad it had been him, rather than Illya or Gaby, especially Gaby. He couldn’t imagine the little chop shop girl hanging by her wrists from the ceiling, arms probably dislocated, like his own currently. He wondered if her feet would even touch the ground, considering his just barely did. A quick thought of Illya being trapped down in his cell was also unsettling. 

This was the first time anyone from their team had been captured and restrained like him right now, so he couldn’t have known how Illya or Gaby would have reacted. Surely, Illya had, at some point in his time in the KGB, been captured, right? What would Peril do? Napoleon had contemplated. 

He entertained his thoughts with the amusement that Illya would have likely overpowered the men that attacked him and he wouldn’t even be near the situation that Napoleon is currently in.

That was when the door abruptly opened to reveal a man, a few inches shorter than him- clearly the mark that he was watching earlier- followed by another two, much taller and much stronger men. 

“Buenas tardes, Señor Cuellar,” (Good evening, Mr. Cuellar) the mark, Renato Medina started, “espero que estés cómodo.” (I hope that you are comfortable.)

“No exactamente, pero creo que una disculpa está en orden porque pareces ser equivocado-” (Not exactly, but I think that an apology is in order because you seem to be mistaken-)

“You can cut the act, Mr. Solo. I know who and what you are. What I need from you...” he changed to English and leaned in a little closer, drawing out the word while pressuring a knife to Napoleon’s cheek, “is to tell me what exactly you think you’re doing here.”

Napoleon couldn’t help but wince at the slight pressure on his face from the blade, but remained calm. “Now, Mr. Medina, I wouldn’t want to trouble you with-”

Napoleon was cut off by the sudden pain to his face. “Mr. Solo, you are going to cooperate fully with my questioning or there,” another cut to his other cheek, “will,” a slap in the face, “be,” another slap, “consequences,” Medina hissed out with another punch to Napoleon’s gut. “I will ask again: what exactly do you think you are doing here?” 

Napoleon saw no gain in continuing to talk. He wasn’t going to tell them anything useful and being a smartass clearly wasn’t helping him buy some time either. With Medina’s temper, Napoleon figured if he continued to talk back, then he would surely be met with a more serious injury or maybe worse. If he wanted to escape, he needed to be in the right condition to do so. Damn it. I really shouldn’t have removed those trackers… 

Medina put on a more calm expression after realizing that Napoleon still wasn’t talking. “Silence isn’t going to do you any good, so I suggest you start talking.”

After a few more seconds more of pause, Napoleon saw the moment Medina’s expression went from calm to angry again. He flinched, rattling the chains a bit as he saw the man approach him. Medina gripped at Napoleon’s jaw, forcing him to look at the man and also causing the recent cuts on his face to sting. Then his expression turned back to calm and somewhat amused. 

“It seems that you are set on being mute. Perhaps I can convince you that that mindset will not work for your best interest in this situation,” he motioned for the two other men that were with him, then turned back to Napoleon. “My men here have always wanted a punching bag here,” he remarked with a slight chuckle, “please let me know when you are willing to cooperate, Mr. Solo.”

With that, Napoleon caught a glance at Medina before the two men stood in front of him. 

This is going to be a long night...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the possible bad use of Spanish, I take some classes for school, but I'm not that good with it :/
> 
> Also, sorry for the wait! Writer's block is annoying lmao. I'll try to get the next chapter in when I can!
> 
> Anyways, thanks for reading and shout at me on tumblr!: https://sociophobia459.tumblr.com/


	3. "We'll Find Him"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaby/Illya's POV

Illya and Gaby were waiting anxiously for the helicopter to land, both seemed to be particularly angry at Waverly, who was still trying to apologize, and more specifically, explain why they couldn’t be involved in the search for their missing partner. All of which was going over both of their heads. Although, Waverly tried to make the point of it being the first mission together that, unintentionally, resulted in one of them being captured, and how he couldn’t trust that Illya’s sudden, blind rage wouldn’t get in the way, along with Gaby’s inexperience in the field, yet neither wanted to listen. 

Both Gaby and Illya were so tired of hearing Waverly’s caution, just wanting their partner back, no matter how much he annoyed them, Napoleon was still part of the team and they knew that he would do the exact same for either of them. 

Gaby noticed Illya’s palm on his thigh, the tapping growing slightly faster with each passing moment. She knew that it was one of his tells that he’s going to have another episode. He usually doesn’t have one when she is around, trying his absolute best not to lose it in front of her, as to not hurt her, but this was different than the times before.

The times before, where she had caught him before an episode, her presence would calm Illya down almost immediately. The times before, where the thing that set him off was something simple and less intense, like Napoleon being an ass and provoking him with another stupid witty remark. The times before, where they all had each other, where Illya was able to rely on the both of them to try to help, whether it was Gaby’s soft touches and gentle words or Napoleon’s cooking and challenging him to a game of chess (to which everyone, even Napoleon, knew that Illya would win anyway), thus distracting him from ever going into an episode.

But this was different, _so much different._

Napoleon wasn’t there. 

It made Illya’s chest tighten, in a way that almost felt the same as in Rome when he was following the tracker that led to his then-missing partner, and then seeing him strapped to a chair, wearing a face with a mixture of pain, exhaustion, and relief. 

At least then, he knew where Napoleon was. Now? The trackers sent no signal.

_Damn you, Cowboy_ , Illya directed to a very absent Napoleon, the ringing in his ears increasing in volume as the seconds went by. 

When he looked up from his seat, he saw Gaby trying to figure out how to handle the situation, whether she should embrace him or just not touch him in fear of that making it worse, or if she should at least _try_ to say something, anything, to calm Illya down. 

Now, with his tightened chest, his heart also managed to drop at the sight of her concern, adding another layer of guilt on top of grief and anger. 

“Gaby,” Illya hesitated, his voice almost like a whisper, ‘I am sorry, I did not mean-”

Gaby interjected, “No, this is not your fault Illya. I just-” She paused, not knowing what exactly she wanted to say, let alone what she was feeling. She sighed out, “It’s just that if we want to find Solo, we need to keep a level head for this. As Waverly said before, we are compromised, yes?” Illya nodded at her statement. “So let’s show him that he’s wrong and that we’ll do what we can to find him, okay?” 

“да,” Illya breathed out, wanting to believe her words, but the thought of what could be happening to Napoleon made it difficult to convince himself that he wasn’t indeed compromised. Yet, the thought also gave him a sense of strength, a sense of determination, a sense of protectiveness. He will find Napoleon, he swore, and he will make them pay for what they did.

As Illya was slightly distracted by his thoughts, he caught Gaby staring out the window.

“Hey, we’re almost there,” she stated, her eyes not leaving the window. Illya nodded yet again, which she caught out of the corner of her eye.

“Do you still have file from safe house?” he asked.

“Yes, but we need to hurry before Waverly finds out I took them. I left the actual file there, but I grabbed some of the more important and useful documents. Not all of them, but just enough so that he won’t suspect it right away. They’re in my luggage.”

He hummed in acknowledgment, a little impressed with her. His mind wandered once again back to Napoleon. _Clearly, he’s had some influence on Gaby in the past few months they’ve been working together._

Illya figured they would make a great little thieving team, which, he reluctantly admits, has been useful once or twice in missions. He would never dare to say it out loud, but what Napoleon lacked in physical strength and terrible spy skills, he made up for being a thief. 

God how he just wished that Napoleon was here. 

The sudden thought honestly surprised him. 

Not even four months ago, he would have killed the American without a second thought. Hell, he even almost killed him at least three different times on their first mission, but there was always something. Something that kept him from doing it. 

First, it was Gaby’s quick maneuvering in the car, driving on the streets of East Germany, as well as the CIA’s help that got both her and Napoleon behind the wall. _He could still remember those blue eyes, gazing at him with more interest rather than fear._

Second, it was Oleg’s orders, “don’t kill your partner on your first day,” along with his own hesitation. _He could have killed him so easily, snapped his neck right then and there, but he didn’t. He held Napoleon in a chokehold instead, he waited. But why?_

Third, it was Napoleon himself that stopped him. _The watch. All he can remember was the tape he was ordered to get, the tape he so desperately needed to avoid the shame of his family’s past and to not be sent to the gulag with his father. He remembers hearing Napoleon pause at one point, his guess was that he saw Illya reaching for his gun, ready to kill him. But he didn’t because when Napoleon turned around, it was not with a gun- like Illya expected- but with his father’s watch, tossing it to him like a peace offering._

Illya had always wondered why Napoleon didn’t kill him then. Why he had betrayed his CIA handler, his country, _his reputation,_ just for him. His orders were the same, to retrieve the tape, so why didn’t he kill him? Why did he burn the tape? And how in the world did he find that one Italian man that stole it in one of the most popular cities in Italy, while they were already busy with a mission? Why-

“Illya,” Gaby interjected his thoughts, putting a reassuring hand on top of Illya’s shaking one. “We’ll find him.”

Illya was about to just nod or give a simple answer, but clearly, that’s not what Gaby was looking for.

“And I’m going to need you to give me more than just a head shake or one word.”

“I know,” but that didn’t seem to make her happy either.

“Illya-”

“You said more than one word, I give more than one word,” Illya pointed out, nonchalantly, making Gaby’s lips twitch into a small smile for a moment. 

“Illya, I’m trying to be serious. I swear to God, you both act like toddlers,” Gaby replied sharply but trailed off into a mutter at the last part of her statement. 

Illya sighed, “I know it will be fine, those men that took him don’t have record of killing unless absolutely necessary. I am just…” Illya didn’t really know what else to say, leaving a sort of comfortable silence between them. 

They both knew what he was going to say, and they were both concerned that Napoleon would either do something stupid that would prompt him to be killed or that they would find him in such a poor state that they wouldn’t be able to get him out. 

Even though the cartel the men worked for didn’t kill people often, that didn’t ease Illya’s worries. If he’s still alive, there’s a reason for it. It was likely for information, but the leader did have a bit of a sadistic side, they found during their mission, so it was also likely that Napoleon would come back with more than a few scars. 

It could also be for ransom, but there probably would have been some sort of message left behind, so it wasn’t as likely. 

Obviously, the other option was they had already killed him. Illya couldn’t stop thinking about that option.

Torture and ransom, they could deal with, it was temporary. Sure, Napoleon would very likely come back with scars and Illya would have to help him recover, both physically and mentally, but that was temporary.

Death was not.

Illya snapped himself out of his thoughts, right in time as they were landing. He really needed to stop getting zoned out and focus on the new mission at hand. 

He looked over at Gaby, who had small tears on her rosy cheeks. Illya reached over and wiped them off, she looked up at him.

“We’ll find him,” was all Illya said, he pulled her closer into a tight hug.

“We’ll find him,” she echoed. 

Then they headed for HQ together, with the file in Gaby’s bag, and another sense of perseverance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I will try to get the next chapter out as soon as I can. 
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated! :)
> 
> Thanks for reading and shout at me on tumblr!:   
> https://sociophobia459.tumblr.com/  
> https://bad-writing-by-socio.tumblr.com/


	4. New Complications

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaby/Illya’s POV - Napoleon’s POV

The room felt so empty as Gaby and Illya entered their office. 

Illya took a glance to the right to see the 3rd desk that occupied the office and the small picture that had the three of them on their Istanbul mission. It was the first time that they saw Napoleon smile without the countless masks he put up, a real smile that brought a slight blush to Illya as he stared at the picture.

“Hey!” Gaby snapped seeming to pull herself together a lot quicker than Illya, “are you going to come over here and help me, or are you just going to stay looming over _his_ desk?”

Gaby at least had the decency to not mention his name, knowing that saying it will either crumble her forced confidence, leaving her sobbing on the ground, or it would set Illya off, leaving the office to be thrashed about as he loses more and more of his calm and slowly to insanity. _That_ was something that they both silently acknowledged. 

Snapping out of his thoughts, Illya turned his attention over to Gaby and the file that was in her hand. 

“Did you get list of contacts?” he started.

“Yes, of course. I’m not _that_ much of an amateur as you two seem to believe I am,” her attempt at humor fell slightly flat due to their situation, but it still caused a faint quirk of Illya’s lips.

“I know, Chop Shop, I know,” he nodded in understanding as she flicked through the file.

“Found it. Here,” she thrust the paper to Illya to decipher while she went through the rest file.

Illya strode to the other side of the room where his desk stood and almost collapsed in the seat behind it, opening the file to see the contents inside.

_No…_

His eyes widened at the realization of what was in the file, which is what made them do the stake-out in the first place: there were almost no available contacts that they could reach to gather information. They happened upon the facility that they were investigating by chance, following a lackey that just so happened to be out doing some sort of errand for the boss of the operation, Renato Medina. 

They needed contacts, and fast. 

Illya kept looking through the small list of people, his eyes flickered from the top of the page to the bottom and back again when he couldn’t make sense of the small list.

He felt the twinge in his hands growing harsher and harsher with every time he looked back to the top of the page.

He looked out the window, which might have been the biggest mistake of this mission.

_Sanders._

He immediately recognized the smaller man coming out of his car with the other agents accompanying him, likely as backup. 

The thrumming in his ears wouldn’t stop, he was going to kill this bastard, but he still needed to tell someone about him.

“Gaby.”

“Yes?” she responded almost too enthusiastically, “did you find something?”

“Look out the window.”

Her gaze suddenly turned towards him, her expression mixed with concern and utter fear, then she turned towards the window and looked out upon the empty lot except for the 4 black cars and the multiples of men leading towards the building. Her face matched his anger as she saw them. 

The next thing Illya saw was a blur as she grabbed him by the arm and up out of his chair, then out the door. The thrumming he was hearing never stopping.

Gaby made a couple turns, most of which Illya was too mentally distant to notice, leading to the front where they could make out loud voices near their destination. 

“What do you mean ‘I can’t speak with him?’” One loud, brittle voice shouted and Gaby and Illya froze around the corner, “I loaned him to you, but I still own that son of a bitch and I will do as I please!” 

Gaby appeared around the corner to see a pale secretary, Sanders, and various other CIA agents. 

“Sanders,” she strained, showing very little restraint in her voice, “what are you doing here?”

“Ah yes,” Sanders sighed out, “finally, someone who can actually help me. Where is Waverly?”

“Who said that I was ever going to help _you_?” she spat out.

“Tch, useless whore, just like this one over here,” he nodded to the secretary. 

Illya had heard enough of his disgusting sexist remarks, so he made his appearance around the corner as well, blocking the agents from their path.

“Well, if it isn’t the Russian giant! What a pleasure to see you here, and without my agent, it seems? It looks like he always attaches himself to you lot whenever I see him, but here we are: I am missing my so-called ‘best agent’, and you’re missing your fag-” Sanders was cut off by the hard punch to his throat. 

“Illya-” Gaby shrieked, stepping forward to try and hold him back from inciting more damage to either the agents or himself, but he stepped forward. The agents responded with a step forward in front of Sanders. 

“ _You_ ,” Illya started, accent heavy and intimidating to the American agents, “you are no better than disgusting pigs that took him in first place.” 

“I don’t think a Russki is in a position to judge that,” Sanders wheezed out, “now where is Waverly?”

“I am right here gentlemen,” Illya turned to see Waverly in the hall, “Kuryakin, while this display has been quite pleasing from this side of the fight, I must ask you to refrain from assaulting them this time, if you don’t mind.” He turned to the CIA agents still on guard, “and that goes the same for you all. I must ask you to refrain from assaulting my agent as well.”

The agents backed down at Waverly’s command. An U.N.C.L.E. agent, they have found, is a lot more important in the long run with international relations than their CIA handler currently still taking short breaths because of the punch. 

“Now, if you don’t mind, what is the purpose of your kind visit here Sanders?”

Sanders stood up at that, not wanting to be challenged. 

“You lost my best agent! That’s what! I loaned him to you, but that doesn’t mean I can’t take him back whenever I please.”

Illya tensed at that, becoming more defensive of his partner. Before Illya could deliver another strike, Waverly stepped between them.

“Mr. Sanders, I understand your frustration-”

“Frustration?!” he shouted, “I am damn furious!”

“Yes, and we have got it under control. We have a team ready to go and extract him from the location now.”

Illya and Gaby both seemed relieved to hear that before Sanders interjected again: “From what location precisely? Surely your research has shown multiple locations, yes?” That was their mission in the first place: find suspects, possible locations, and, if they were to see Medina, then they report back immediately. They didn’t find any other locations than the one, making it a lot more difficult than if they knew exactly where Napoleon- who seemed to have removed his tracker- was. 

It was jarring to hear that there were multiple locations, and before Waverly could retort, Illya stepped in.

“What locations? Is there something your organization is hiding from us?”

“ _That_ is the reason why I am here. When I got a copy of the report, I noticed that some of my agents were working on that case as well. It would seem a trade is in order, no?”

A trade? Illya had thought to himself.

“Mr. Sanders, if you have information, then it is best to let my best agents handle this. He is currently my agent after all since you so kindly loaned him to me. We will do everything in our power to find Mr. Solo.”

“Your ‘best agents,’ so you say?” Sanders glanced at Illya and Gaby, “well how come they did not assist Solo whilst he was being taken?” This time, it was Sanders’ turn to deliver the punch through his words, which were just as painful.

“Listen here,” everyone turned their attention to the German girl who, despite her small height, seemed to be the most intimidating in the room, “you have no right asking us about our mission. When have you ever helped him, hm? Am I to assume that you always went after him when he was captured? Or that you ever gave him the best care when needed? Because that’s not what he has said before.

“He mentioned how you ‘never sent anyone to help him,’ trying to ‘toughen him up,’ if I recall. Or how all those scars on him look so poorly patched up, as if he did them on his own, rather than a proper doctor helping him.

“You are _not_ one to speak of us in that way. You may think he’s just a low-life thief who doesn’t deserve any of what I just mentioned, but he does and we are the ones who give him that. We weren’t able to help him then, but U.N.C.L.E. is helping now, so I suggest you give us the information, and when Solo gets back, you leave him alone. Am I being clear, or should I ‘speak’ in more general terms?”

Sanders wavered for a moment, taken aback from Gaby’s spiel. He thought for a moment before speaking.

“That…” Sanders started, “will not be necessary, Miss Teller.” He nodded towards one of the agents, “Jones, give the girl the file, we’ll let them handle it,” he turned towards the door, the agents following, but paused for a moment, turning his head back.

“ _For now._ ”

Illya was filled with rage again at those last words, the pounding in his head suddenly snapping.

Two sets of hands were suddenly gripping both arms and more agents filled the room to step in front of him, some going to lead the CIA agents out of the building.

“Illya,” Gaby’s voice soft, but sharp, “Illya, you need to calm down, they are not worth it.” She leaned in closer, lowering her voice barely even a sound and whispered, “we need to find him.”

That made Illya look towards her now, eyes going from staring bullets into the other agents to gazing at her with a kinder expression. He nodded ever so slightly, almost unnoticeable. 

Gaby let go of him, cueing Waverly to do so as well. He hesitated but with a glare from her, his grip faltered. 

As the CIA agents left, Gaby directed her focus to Waverly. 

“You planned this, didn’t you? You really have no trust in Illya? All these agents here,” she turned and waved an arm to show the plentiful of agents that filled the room, “they were your doing, weren’t they?”

“Miss Teller,” Waverly started, “I assure you that I trust you to handle a job effectively, but when it comes to-” 

“You don’t even trust us to handle a case that involves _our partner_ ,” Gaby interrupted, “we are still able to do a job effectively, and possibly more efficient than your team you have set up, considering our partnership dynamic. You don’t even trust us with _that_ , how can I believe you?”

“Gaby, I don’t doubt that you would find him quicker, but what happens when you find him? Kuryakin, no offense, would likely tear the place apart and destroy any valuable evidence we need for the rest of this mission. You are more skilled in stealth missions anyways, Gaby. This group is very dangerous and I-”

Gaby had to pause for a moment, but cut him off with her hand up. He _did_ have a point, but a thought came to her head: “What if we assist in finding him?” Waverly lifted an eyebrow in suspicion, Gaby continued, “What I mean by that is we help them find the location, but we don’t have to assist in the saving part. You did say that you didn’t doubt that we would find him quicker.”

Now it was Waverly’s turn to pause, with a bit of thought, he came to a conclusion.

“I suppose that would be favorable. You two do have a motivation to find him, although you are not permitted to work in the field.”

Gaby looked at Illya with a triumphant expression, he gave her a small smile as a response. 

“Well?” Waverly started, “I gave you a mission, didn’t I? You will report to Agent Green, she will give you the briefing.”

“Yes sir,” they both said in unison as they walked off through the corridor.

* * * * * *

It had been hours since the pain had started.

Napoleon’s shoulders were throbbing with pain, dislocated from the immense amount of strain while he was hanging from his wrists, tied to the ceiling. He was so tired from the alteration between being able to stand with his feet on the ground, but have to stay standing by still being tied from the ceiling; to just barely being able to stand. He was glad that at least there wouldn’t be any permanent nerve damage, but it was just so painful.

The rest of his body wasn’t doing too good either. From the long sessions of beatings by people who honestly seemed like a tower over him to his pathetic form. 

Every part of his body felt like it was on fire. 

He looked down at the lines of bruises and cuts. He distinctly remembers when they took off his shirt, cutting down a line through it from the back with absolutely no care at all. The cut down his back from when they sliced it, rather than using scissors was agonizing because when it happened, the first thing Napoleon had done was try to scold them for ruining a very expensive shirt, then he registered the pain shortly after. The blood on the ground is a reminder.

The beatings followed soon after, adding a whole new level of pain. Napoleon knew he couldn’t give any details, but he just wanted it to stop. He wanted to see Illya burst through the door in his signature “subtle” style and save him, but he knew he couldn’t rely on that. He was only a burden for getting caught, and with an agent like Illya in U.N.C.L.E, who needed him? The thought had crossed him multiple times, the fear of them disposing of him and sending him back to the CIA burned in his mind. He was a terrible spy anyway, right? 

If he was going to get out of there, it had to be on his own terms. _Pretty difficult with dislocated shoulders, a torn-up back, and likely broken ribs_ , Napoleon thought to himself.

“Are you ready to talk now, Mr. Solo?” Medina interrupted his thoughts, “or would you like me to use some more persuasive tactics? We do have a few new drugs we need to test anyways.”

Napoleon was losing hope that he would be able to get out of there alive, his snarky attitude coming back with more spite, than the usual smooth banter, “if you wanted me to talk, why didn’t you just use the drug then in the first place? Or did your goons just need something to toy with like a dog?”

“Now, why would there be any rush? I’m sure you’re already aware that no one is coming for you. This location is very secure, I even made sure myself.”

“Well, you did a pretty shitty job the first time if we managed to find you.”

Medina let out a low growl of annoyance.

“Enough of your games, Mr. Solo. I’ll give you the choice: you hand over the information willingly or we take it from you. What’s it going to be?”

“How very kind of you to give me a choice, but I’m going to have to go with neither. I’m not telling you anything, whether by giving it to you or you taking it. Besides, you don’t seem pretty capable to do either, seeing as how most of your tests have ended in failure anyway,” Napoleon spits.

Medina stands up straighter and considers it, then with a bitter smile, he leans in closer.

“Those are some strong words for someone with a broken rib,” Medina presses Napoleon’s chest where the fractured rib is, eliciting a loud shout of pain from Napoleon, effectively shutting up his smart comments.

Medina stopped putting the strain on his chest, Napoleon hung as limply as he could. Medina lifted his chin for him to see the wicked grin on his face while he spoke, “Antonio, get the drugs. We’ll see how eager our subject here will talk after trying this new experiment.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow this took a while, I'm sorry-
> 
> School just started for me, so I have to balance life, school, drawing, and writing now :/
> 
> I'm trying to write the rescue scene, but I wanna get through a couple tensions first cause I like the angst. It might be one or two more chapters away.
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated and greatly encouraged! :)
> 
> Thanks for reading and shout at me on tumblr!:  
> https://sociophobia459.tumblr.com/  
> https://bad-writing-by-socio.tumblr.com/


	5. Found?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5- Gaby/Illya’s POV - Napoleon’s POV

“Agent Green?”

Green turned towards the two agents walking in, immediately recognizing them as the rescue team's newest temporary members, according to Waverly. She had initially advised against it, but Waverly insisted that their help would be essential in finding the missing agent.

“Hello you two,” she greeted, “the files are on the table to your left. We haven’t made much progress as of now, but I hope that you will be able to help. I’m sure Waverly has informed you that you will not be able to-”

“Yes,” Illya interrupted, “Waverly briefed us earlier.” Green could notice the tension in his voice, clearly upset about not being able to be in the field. 

“Okay then, let us know if you find anything.”

Gaby and Illya averted their attention towards the files on the left. 

* * * * * *

Word after word, paragraph after paragraph, page after page, and file after file, there was nothing. There was no trace of any suspicious activity that raised any alarm through any of the files. 

Known suspects were either dead or missing, at least to U.N.C.L.E’s watch, there were no reports of any traces of drugs, no reports of any harm towards civilians or other agents. If it weren’t for the rare arrest of a suspect, who later died from either suicide or some sort of poison, and as well as their missing partner, they probably wouldn’t even know about the cartel. 

Illya started tapping his finger on one of the files he was holding. He was becoming increasingly stressed about his partner. What was going on? Were they hurting him, and how badly? He wouldn’t be there to help him, so what would happen then _if_ they found him? Would they help him properly? Would they even _find_ him? _He could be dead._

The thought was pushed into his head faster than he could reason with it. His focus started drifting from the file to the endless thoughts of what could happen or what is and also what _isn’t_ happening. The persistent thrumming in his head wouldn’t stop, it only kept getting louder and louder and louder, until-

“Illya? Illya, I found something!”

_What?_

“I think I found something that could help lead us to him.”

Illya immediately hurried to look over her shoulder, reading over the file. 

“Look,” she pointed to a small list of various items that were scheduled for imports and exports, “this was before the date when U.N.C.L.E. first started the case. See this small portion of the list? They were packages scheduled to go out to the States. Then, about a few days after U.N.C.L.E. caught our first suspect near that port, they stopped the shipment. It’s also the same for another set of various exports on another list here, but this one happened right after the three of us first arrived at the target’s location. Then, just a few days after, we did the stake-out, which was where he was taken. Same general location.

“What if the hideout is in the general area to the ports as well? They could be keeping him somewhere near there. The place we were watching over, it was an abandoned factory, and the first location, the suspect described it as some kind of abandoned medical facility. There’s a pattern: abandoned buildings that are able to house drug-making as well as testing, which we know because it was the result of one victim’s death here.” 

Illya was stunned into silence, then he fully took in what she had said. 

“Good job Gaby, we need to inform the others.”

“Got it,” she walked towards Green, and Illya followed closely behind before Gaby stopped him. “Maybe I should do this alone, I’ll explain why later.”

Illya didn’t take too kindly to her mysterious behavior but went back to where they had been hovering over the table a little bit ago. 

* * * * * *

“Laura?” Gaby addressed Agent Green by her first name.

“Hmm?” Green hummed in question, “yes, did you find something Teller?” Gaby recognized her reverting to professionalism, but she needed something, and professionalism was not going to give it to her.

“Laura, I need you to listen to me. Illya and I need to go on the field mission with your team, this is-”

“Gaby, no. You know I cannot let you go, Waverly would have a riot, you and Kuryakin may get hurt, pretty much anything could happen on this mission, we’ll handle your partner.”  
“Laura, you and I both know that Illya and I know the risks. And as for Waverly, he’s generally okay with us going against the books if it’s benefitting the mission, that’s the point of U.N.C.L.E. We’re willing to do anything for Solo, just please let us go.”

“Gaby…”

“You know I don’t want to do this, but you still owe me, Laura. What happened when your partner was at risk of being hurt? You asked me for help, and I helped. You know I don’t like to hold that favor against you like this, but we need to go with you. We need to get him back.”

Laura paused for a moment, considering the options. With a heavy sigh, she caved, “fine, but you two have to do your absolute best to stay detached from this case. We have no idea what they could have done to Solo and you can’t let whatever you find affect you. You two will go on this mission with a level head, you got that?”

“We will,” Gaby gave her the file with their findings. She turned to head back to Illya, she paused, “And Laura? Thank you.”

“We leave in about two hours, I just need to run this by Waverly. I won’t tell him about your involvement.” 

“Thank you, Laura.”

* * * * * *

Illya immediately stood up from his seat when he saw Gaby walk through the doorway.

“So? What did she say? What are they doing? When are-”

“Illya, take a few breaths. She’s letting us go on the mission.”

Illya was taken aback for a moment, “what did you say to her?”

“Oh nothing, she just owed me a small favor, that’s all. We leave in two hours so we need to hurry, get your tactical gear and we’ll meet up where the helicopter is, all right?”

He nodded in response and made his way to the locker room, Gaby heading in the other direction. 

When Illya went into the room where there were already a couple of men in there talking. 

“You know, I don’t understand why so many people have to go on this extraction. It’s just one person, right?”

_Must be newbie_ , Illya thought to himself. He didn’t recognize the voice and most of the people at U.N.C.L.E knew of the trio and their work for the agency. For this agent to not know of them and know the gravity of this mission at this point was truly astonishing.

“Yeah, it may seem a bit too over-the-top, but you’ve seen what they do to their victims, right? It’s pretty gruesome,” the other agent started, “I worked on one mission for the case, and damn if it wasn’t the most depressing thing I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen a lot in the field. Honestly, I doubt he’s even alive by now. I know Solo enough to know that he won’t give any information and if he isn’t useful to them real soon, then he’s probably a goner.”

Illya’s heart clenched at that, he felt like the air was just knocked out of him.

“You didn’t answer my question though, why do we have to send this many people for one person who’s probably dead anyway.”

“So that no one else ends up like him. We can’t lose another, especially if Solo is gone.”

“Who even is he anyway? I don’t understand at all why he is so important, just declare him KIA or MIA and get on with it.”

“Look, I know you come from the military where you need to be able to have your own back, but it’s not like that here. We can’t just leave him, especially if he is alive. He’s one of the best damn agents here, he works with Kuryakin and Teller, they’re some of the best and have been here since day one.” The agent paused for a moment, “besides, we’d do the same for you. What if you were in his place, wondering if anyone’s even coming for you?”

The first agent didn’t respond.

“I thought so. Sure changes things, doesn’t it?”

“I guess.”

Illya opened and closed the door again but this time louder so that the agents didn’t suspect that he'd been there eavesdropping. 

“Hey Kuryakin, Green updated us on the mission. So you’re coming with?” The second agent, a tall man, but not near as tall as Illya, with light brown hair that Illya recognized as Jonathan, questioned. He got a look at the other agent, shorter and with less muscle than both the other men in the room, but Illya didn’t recognize him.

“Yes, I am,” Illya stated, getting his gear together. Out of nowhere, he blurted, “Is he new?” 

“Oh, him?” Jonathan pointed to the man, “Yeah, he’s new. This is Simon, Simon this is Illya. Illya Kuryakin.” The shorter man seemed to shrink further at being mentioned, no doubt ashamed that he talked about the Russian’s partner in such a poor and neglectful manner. 

“Don’t mind him. He’s a bit shy, y’know?” Jonathan gave a small chuckle.

Illya nodded and turned to leave with his mission gear when Jonathan put a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, we’ll fin-” Illya cut him off with a jerk of his shoulder. He turned his head back to look at the agent with a new look of barely restrained aggression.

_“Do not touch me.”_

Jonathan backed up with his hands in the air like a surrender.

“Alright, sorry man. Good luck on the mission.”

Illya looked back towards the door, “Yeah, sure.”

* * * * * *

Almost as quickly as he had been told he was going on the mission, he was ready in the room alone waiting for Gaby and the rest of his team. It wasn’t unlike Illya to be punctual, but usually, he was with Napoleon to pass a little bit of time. 

He worried as time went on. He worried about Napoleon, he knows he’s not going to find him and in a good state and it’s going to be difficult getting him out. He worried about Gaby, would she be captured as well? He also worried about Sanders, not exactly for him, just about him. Would he take Napoleon away from him? 

_That_ particular thought caught his attention. What would happen if he was taken away? Whenever he brought up the topic of his old handler, Napoleon would always either deflect or he would give the obscurest reference to him. 

It was now apparent that when next time he sees Napoleon, it was not going to be pleasant. 

By the time he had been snapped out of his thoughts, there were already people filing into the room along with Gaby, who took a seat beside him, and Agent Green, who stood at the front of the room running over the details of the mission.

Illya tried to listen as closely as he could while she was speaking, but the constant thrumming in his head was starting to get in the way of her speech. That was until Gaby nudged his side to get his attention.

She gave him a gentle look and went back to listening to Green. The calming look provided him with enough strength to quell his anger and pay attention. 

As Green finished up and gave them their placements, advising them to be careful, they boarded the helicopter. They were going to find him, and Illya only had one focus, and that was his partner, his Cowboy, _his_ Napoleon. _He_ was going to find him, by any means necessary. 

* * * * * *

The helicopter ride seemed forever as they flew to Mexico. _Just 15 more minutes._

As time went on, Illya had gotten control of the shaking, focusing only on the mission, but that constant worry never stopped for him. 

He began to count down each minute.

_14_

_13_

_12_

_11_

_10…_

* * * * * * 

_5..._

At first, Napoleon had tried to delay them using the drugs, but now he found himself strapped to a table, unable to stop them from administering the drug. He flinched as the needle entered his arm.

Napoleon was hopeful that the drug would turn out like most of their tests that he heard about: ineffective and fairly harmless, but apparently this one was slightly more fast-acting as he could already start to feel the effects taking hold.

“Now Mr. Solo,” Medina cut in, “We’ve been testing this one for a while now. The past subjects were a little more… _useless_ with their results, but the last one showed promise! Well, that was before your organization had taken him. Maybe you could help us with that, tell me,” Medina stepped closer to the table, “What was the name of that organization?”

_Keep quiet, don’t say it, keep quiet, don’t say it, think about something else, don’t say-_

_“U.N.C.L.E.” damn it…_

“Very good. What were you doing here?”

“We were…” Napoleon looked around, taking in details of the room- _Another table, window, the door-_ distracting himself. However, clearly he had said too much anyway.

“‘We?’ Who is this ‘we’ you are talking about?”

_“No…”_

“Mr. Solo, refusing to give an answer is not an option now. Who is this ‘we?’”

“I- Il-” Napoleon stuttered, his voice straining.

“Jesus Christ, this isn’t getting anywhere, boss,” one of the other guards interrupted, “We need to go, I think I heard something.”

Medina glared back at the guard, “Well then _go find it._ ” 

_1…_

Gunshots rang throughout the facility causing Medina and the other guards to jump.

“ _Shit_ , get him off the table,” Medina yelled, “ _NOW!_ ”

The guards worked at the straps keeping Napoleon on the table, dragging him up to a standing position, or at least as much of a standing position as he could manage with the drugs and other injuries. 

The gunshots started to sound closer and closer. Medina grabbed Napoleon by the arm, shielding himself. 

Then the door burst open.

* * * * * *  
Illya was supposed to be tasked with supporting the team and staying at the back, not at the front, but when the guard at the front of the abandoned hospital told them where they were keeping Napoleon, he darted off in that direction. 

When he got to the room and tore open the door, he shot the two guards but froze when he saw Napoleon.

“Drop your gun or I’ll fucking slit his throat!” Medina yelled at Illya.

Illya took in the scene, seeing Napoleon slumped against Medina, who was holding him up to shield himself, _drugged_ , with a knife at his throat. 

“I said DROP IT!”

Illya dropped the gun, however, he noted the small knife that he had brought with him, hidden from their sight.

“Good. I assume that you are the one who accompanied this one?” 

Illya remained silent, still looking for possible solutions to defuse the situation. He needed to get Medina and the knife away from Napoleon and quickly before the lunatic got any ideas. His mind went to his own knife, and an idea formed. 

“Do you have a death wish for your little ‘friend’ here, or-”

Before Medina could finish his question, a small gash appeared on his arm, enough for him to cry out, drop the knife and release Napoleon, who fell to the ground almost immediately. 

Illya reached for the gun that he dropped earlier and shot him. How many times? Illya couldn’t tell over the roaring in his ears and the haze of red over his eyes, only stopping when the man stopped moving and an extra shot to the head just for good measure. 

His focus turned to the other heap of limbs on the floor, silent and unmoving. Illya quickly kneeled by Napoleon checking his pulse, which was irregular and almost non-existent. While he checked for a breath, Illya’s own heart stopped when he couldn’t find one. 

He felt the broken ribs as he started doing compressions, but didn’t stop knowing that Napoleon was so close to dying. He shouted for Gaby and the rest of the team as footsteps neared the room. 

“Oh my God,” Gaby exclaimed as she appeared in the doorway to see Illya giving CPR to the unconscious body on the floor, “Get the medic! Now!”

Illya was reluctant to step aside as the medic walked through the door, but with the help of two agents and Gaby, he finally stood beside him, watching as the lifeless body was picked up into a stretcher. They ran out of the evacuated hideout alongside the other agents to the helicopter. 

It seemed to take forever as the helicopter finally reached the hospital

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh. My. Goodness. I am so sorry that the last chapter was over a month ago- 
> 
> However, this was (I think) a longer chapter than I usually write, so I hope that at least makes up partially for the delay. (Again, I'm really sorry-)
> 
> And yes, there is more to come, so I'll try to have that out as soon as I can! ~~Also, there is a meaning to the title ;)~~
> 
> Thanks for reading and shout at me on tumblr:  
> https://sociophobia459.tumblr.com/  
> https://bad-writing-by-socio.tumblr.com/


	6. Please...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gaby/Illya’s POV

Gaby looked down at the Russian sitting in a chair in the waiting room and sighed, “you know that sitting here for days on end isn’t going to wake him up, right?” 

She had been trying to get him to go home and take care of himself for the past 4 days. Illya grudgingly leaves the hospital whenever he gets tired of Gaby trying to push him off the chair, which is usually at least once every day. 

However, when Illya comes back, he’s in that same chair (if it isn’t already taken), staring at either the floor or the door where doctors are coming in and out of. Gaby’s barely seen him sleep, and when he does, it’s usually exhaustion rather than his own will. 

Illya didn’t respond to her, just continued staring at the floor.

“This isn’t changing anything, you need sleep, you need to eat, all of that. When he wakes up, he’s only going to be more worried about you.”

No response.

“Illya, go. You need to take care of yourself, this-”

Illya cut her off by mumbling something too quiet for Gaby to hear.

“What?”

“Do you not…” he trailed off, hesitating slightly.

“Illya, I still don’t know-”

“Do you not care about him?!” he finally shouted, lucky that there was nobody else in the room other than a nervous-looking secretary. 

Gaby was taken aback by his outburst, but her initial surprise led to anger. 

“Of course I do! What in God’s name made you think otherwise? Why? Is it because I care about _you_ too? Is it because I don’t want to see you pass out on either the chair or the floor? Is it because I don’t want to see you starve yourself just because you _refuse_ to go home and actually _eat_?”

“Gaby, I-”

“Excuse me? Mr. Kuryakin? Miss Teller?” a voice from the door interrupted, Illya and Gaby turned their attention to the doctor standing in the doorway, “May I speak with you two?”

Gaby gave one last glare at Illya before following the doctor, Illya following closely behind. 

As they neared Napoleon’s room, the doctor pulled them to the side of the hallway.

“He’s not… in the best state right now. He’s currently in a coma from some sort of toxin, which we have concluded was some kind of paralytic drug. It caused heart arrhythmia, slowing his heart rate.

“However, this new drug was only meant to have a short life in the system, it should all be out in about, I’d say maybe a day or two. That’s when recovery will take place. We’ve kept his heart rate stable for now while the drug goes through his system, but it will take a while for a full recovery.

“His other injuries didn’t help him out either. He was lucky when you found him and that he received care right then. He did suffer from a punctured lung, likely caused by CPR, which can be normal if there was already a cracked rib. We’ve got him on a chest tube right now and we’re supplying him with oxygen. He’s expected to make a full recovery in that aspect.

“The lacerations and bruising on the back, abdomen, and face were taken care of, he’s expected to recover from that; however, it should be known that it will still take some to heal. 

“Just… for now, be careful while you’re in the room, and for the love of God, figure out your little _situation_ and don’t stress him out anymore than what he’s been through for these past few days.”

Illya’s eyes followed the doctor as he entered the room, he caught the small glimpse of the hospital bed before the door closed, prompting him to turn his head back to the small brunette standing in front of him with her arms crossed. 

“You need to figure this out,” Gaby started, “do you really think I don’t worry about him as much as you do? Look, I know it’s clear you two have _something_ going on-”

“Gaby-”

Gaby held up a hand to silence him, “no, let me finish. What _we_ had before Istanbul, that’s gone. Illya, you’re more like family to me than someone I want to _be_ with, in that way. However, the way you look at _him_ , it’s the same way you looked at me in Rome, except I know it’s real this time around. You _lov-_ ”

“Stop.”

“Why should I? You should know by now that I’m not going to judge you or tell anyone else, even Waverly. Besides, you two dance around each other like absolute morons, it’s starting to get on my nerves. Anyway, he loves you too, you know that, right?”

“He likes women, not men.”

Gaby shrugged, “he can like both.”

“He does what is necessary for mission, nothing more. I have not noticed him sleep with a man for anything other than mission.”

“And what about women? If you hadn’t noticed since Rome, he doesn’t sleep with that many people in general anymore and that’s because he likes _you_. I swear, if you’re basing this off his file, it’s bullshit. You know as well as I do that the CIA lied on it, so why are you going on with that information?” Gaby paused for a moment and sighed, “and you call _him_ a terrible spy.”

Illya looked back at the door. 

Gaby could see the almost longing look that he gave towards it. She took Illya’s hand in hers, “come on, let’s just be there for him right now, okay?” Illya nodded distantly.

As they walked into the room together, they both recognized the doctor at the side of the bed. Illya’s eyes fell to the pale figure in the bed. He felt Gaby hesitate in front of him at the sight before them, he reassuringly put a hand on her shoulder and ushered her forward. 

The doctor looked up from his papers to them. “Don’t worry, the chest tube is only temporary until he can start breathing on his own, hopefully by the time he wakes up. Now, I gave you two permission to stay here for as long as he’s here, but you do need to go home and take care of yourselves. I don’t need someone taking up another hospital bed.”

Gaby gave a gloating look towards Illya, a look clearly stating that she had won the argument. He didn’t look back.

“I said you _two_ , Miss Teller,” the doctor interjected, “you can take shifts for all I care. I’m sure it’d be nice for him to wake up to a familiar face anyway, but just make sure you _both_ get some well-needed rest.

“The nurse will come back in to check on his vitals, and you’ll likely only see me again when he wakes up, so until then,” the doctor gives a small wave before walking out of the room.

An awkward pause replaced the doctor’s presence, leaving Gaby and Illya with silence in the room. Gaby then glanced at Illya, who hasn’t taken his eyes off of Napoleon since the moment they got in.

“Illya, I’m serious about you needing to take care of yourself,” finally Illya turned towards her. She continued, “this isn’t going to wake him up and you know that.”

Illya paused for a moment, “but the doctor said he needed a familiar face.”

“If I remember correctly, he said it would be nice, first of all. And secondly, he did mention that you need to take care of yourself first.”

“But I could-”

“Illya,” Gaby interrupted, “if you don’t leave this room, so help me, I will kick you out of here myself. Go.”

Gaby didn’t leave much room for a retort. Illya knew that Gaby had a mostly calm, but bold personality, but he knew she had her limits, and this was one of them. Arguing with her when she felt protective of them was pointless (he should know, seeing Napoleon try to argue with her regarding him about to do something stupid), they both found it to be one of her best traits. 

He gazed down at the brunette to meet her eyes and sighed, turning towards the doorway. He took one last glance at Napoleon, he knew he couldn’t stay there for long without breaking down upon seeing the fragile body, so he closed the door and walked towards the exit.

* * * * * *

Gaby watched as Illya walked out. There was almost no telling what he would consider as “taking care of himself.” 

As much as she tried not to, she still constantly worried about them and their health. From Napoleon’s impulsiveness to Illya’s aggression, together they were both like a ticking time bomb, which was why Waverly paired them with Gaby. However, she still had her set of issues too that everyone seems to miss on a daily basis. 

She managed to take care of herself, but only just barely. Sleep was the thing that she struggled with the most and she almost never had the energy to try and put herself to sleep, this even happened on good days. The moment she would actually try, her thoughts would always fill with situations like the one they are in now, thinking about Napoleon or Illya getting hurt, a mission going wrong in general, whatever bullshit they had to deal with from the KGB, CIA, or even just Waverly, the job was consistently overwhelming. Then, instead of sleeping, she would go to something else for comfort. 

They all had their outlets (both healthy and unhealthy), but Gaby found herself trying to learn new things as a good outlet. Although, what started as interests would turn into obsessions in the night, which is why her Russian has greatly improved since she met Illya. 

Anything machine-related was another hobby she took up too, Solo and Illya would wake up to some kind of new fix in the car, the coffee maker being taken apart, it was whatever sort of machine she could get her hands on. 

At first, Gaby tried blaming it on a rough mission or she would tell them that she just felt like doing something at that moment, and they had believed that, as long as it wasn’t before an important mission, they chose to ignore it. 

That was until Solo had taken a look at their files.

Of course, she knew straight away once he was the one that started mothering her. It was a subtle change that he seemed to have covered up well, but Gaby knew when he started to make sure that she would at least try to go to sleep. 

When she confronted him about it, he told a story about being in the army and having a friend who went through the same thing. It was the first and last story of his past that he told them, a moment where he was open, making her remember what he had told her:

_“This guy, Mark, we were… buddies in the army. I may not know exactly what you go through, but if there’s anyone I can base this off of, it’s probably him. He tried all sorts of different exercises that would help him, even took up writing._

_“However, they didn’t really help him, given the circumstance, he was always writing letters to family back home. He finally got it together when he realized that it only stressed him out more, like how the upgrades and Russian lessons are only stressing you out._

_“Instead, he tried doing these other things, like breathing exercises to help him calm down, and if that wouldn’t work, he’d try sketching until he felt tired enough. He told me that it was about finding what’s relaxing for_ you. _Things will stress you out, no doubt and it doesn’t even have to have a reason to, but there’s always time in life to find something else as a replacement. There’s always time to take care of yourself, no matter the situation.”_

She didn’t press him to tell her more when she noticed that he started fiddling with his ring (a habit she noticed that he would do when something bothered him). He was considerate enough not to tell Illya, who would end up probably losing his own sleep trying to help her. 

After that, she noticed that he made sure to take whatever drink she’d gotten her hands on when she was supposed to be sleeping and that she stayed away from coffee late at night. Gaby later found that it helped her gain maybe an hour or two of sleep at night, which was a lot to her at the time. 

She smiled at the thought, but it quickly soured at the thought of how poorly she was handling this now.  
She looked towards the bed, “I need you here, you know that, right?” She paused, “Illya won’t stop stressing out, we had an argument about him taking care of himself, which you already know how he is about that. Hell, even when you were… _here_ , he wouldn’t take care of himself all too well, and now…

“He’s worried about you, I am too, we’re all worried. You’re always doing something that will put yourself in danger, you think you’re expendable, that you’re just some tool that people only care about when you’re useful, but you’re not. Well, you may have been to the CIA, but they’re not here and they don’t have control over you now. _We_ care about you and you’re not a tool to us.”

Gaby waited for a little while as if expecting a response. When there was none, she sat down and waited for Illya to come back. 

“Please, just wake up soon…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter focuses a bit more on Gaby and Napoleon's relationship. In my eyes, it's strictly platonic and I don't really consider them being in a romantic relationship, but that doesn't make her care any less about him or him care any less about her. They're part of a team and they care about each other. 
> 
> My reasoning for Illya thinking that she doesn't care is because he's stressed out, being stressed out can do a number on a person, often clouding their judgement. So when Gaby finally tries to snap him out of it and tries to take care of him (which he's not used to), he snaps at her instead. He would obviously feel bad for doing so, he's not a jerk, so don't worry, he's just really stressed out.
> 
> Also, I don't know if this is just me, but not a whole lot of people know from Gaby's dossier that she does have low-level anxiety and insomnia, and it's not written too much that I've seen, so I decided to focus on that too. Trust me, anxiety and insomnia suck. I've been diagnosed with anxiety and am believed to have insomnia, so I tried basing it a bit off of my experience. I usually use music to cope with it, but this was set in the 1960s, so no earbuds (obviously). I just looked up other methods to help someone with insomnia, and not drinking alcohol or coffee can be a big help for some. And yes, even an hour or two more of sleep is amazing and feels like an accomplishment. 
> 
> Another thing before I go again, I am so, so very sorry for the two month wait and non-existent schedule. My school had to move to virtual due to a positive case, which ended up really stressing me out, then there's a lot of family stuff going on with break, so I just haven't had the drive to write much, I'm really sorry. Hopefully this will suffice for now, I'm working on the next chapter and will try to have it out sometime in mid to late-January, if not sooner (I think).

**Author's Note:**

> Shout at me on tumblr!: https://sociophobia459.tumblr.com/


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